


The Antiquarian's Archivist

by ashembie



Series: Modern Characters in Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Modern Boy in Thedas, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashembie/pseuds/ashembie
Summary: The Antiquarian acquires a new artefact.The modern character objects to being called as such.
Series: Modern Characters in Thedas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907488
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. She/Her

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while, hoping to make it into something longer, but I never will, so here it is as its own thing.
> 
> This was inspired by this prompt: https://moderngirlinthedas.tumblr.com/post/140193299350/mgit-prompt-3
> 
> Please feel free to use this idea for your own fic, and make sure to drop a link to it in a comment below because I'd love to read it!
> 
> Chapter One has she/her pronouns, Chapter Two has he/him pronouns, and Chapter Three has they/them pronouns.

“What do you want from me?” She wishes her voice wasn’t shaking so much, but after three days with no food and little sleep it was taking all her strength to stay standing.

“I want only your company,” The voice echoes and rumbles around the room, and despite its cordial tone it makes her shiver. “I have heard every story, every myth, every theory a hundred times over. You have a world of difference in your head. That is very interesting to someone in as unique a position as I.”

“You kidnapped me… so I could tell you stories?” She says slowly. 

The Antiquarian wheezes a terrible laugh.

“I instructed the Urchin to bring you from the crate in which you were quaking, to here, my home, warm and dry, with an offer of employment. Would you have preferred to have gone unnoticed until some thug decided you would serve better as a night’s entertainment for him?” He hisses, “Or perhaps until you got so desperate that you crawled up the steps of the city to beg work from the Rose, like so many of this city’s insects?” 

She stumbles backwards from the glass, unable to tear her eyes away from the motionless corpse contained within that exuded an aura of menace. She clips one of the fences surrounding the Emporium with her side, knocking herself off balance and down onto her hip painfully. The Antiquarian’s eyes have long since decomposed, yet she feels them boring into her own as if he were standing over her. She holds his gaze for as long as she can before shutting them and turning her head in defeat. The intimidation retreats back into the glass slowly, leaving a faint sensation of satisfaction with her submission.

“I have no knowledge how you got into this world but I am undoubtedly your best chance at working that out,” The Antiquarian continues in his cordial tone. 

“What do you mean?” She hesitantly opens her eyes and looks at the glass again.

“Child, I am older than you can comprehend, and in this room are magical artefacts and tomes that were considered ancient when I first started my collection,” The Antiquarian sounds almost nostalgic, “Half of the most valuable texts have decayed with age and their contents now reside only in my mind. If _I_ cannot help you, _no one_ can.”

An overwhelming sense of loneliness comes over her. She has been in this terrible world for nearly a week and her minor accomplishments of finding shelter and keeping her meagre possessions now seem so insignificant. This crumbling corpse and his strange pet urchin are the only people who care whether she lives or dies. She pulls her knees up to her chest and presses her eyes against them to try and force back tears, wishing she was alone so she could give in to the encompassing desolation. Despite her best efforts, a sob was muffled into her jeans.

“There there, Child,” the Antiquarian soothes, “Urchin! Comfort the Child!” he snaps.

A tiny hand pats her on the shoulder. She hiccups and doesn't shoo the boy away while she cries.

After her sobs slow, she looks up with red-rimmed eyes and says in a quavering voice.

“I’m not a child. I have a name.”

“Everyone is a child to me,” the Antiquarian says amusedly, “And names are so immaterial when your life will be gone in a blink of my eye.”

She has nothing to say to that, so she wipes her eyes and accepts a handkerchief from the Urchin to blow her nose. She stands up, knees steadier and her head clearer.

“I want a contract,” She says with as much authority as she can manage, “Written and signed by both of us, describing my duties, what I will and will not do, and what I am allowed to do,” She tries to hide how reluctant she is to add the last condition. “It will serve as a record of my life after you have blinked.”

There is silence for a long moment and she braces herself for the intrusive aura again - until a wheezing laugh echoes around the emporium, longer and perhaps more genuine than before.

“I have chosen well, Child,” the Antiquarian radiates delight, “Already you are bringing difference to my life. Urchin! Fetch quill and ink!”

While the Urchin scuttles around gathering writing materials, she takes several deep breaths. This is the opportunity to bargain and barter for her basic needs, personal freedom, and any luxuries for the foreseeable future. She can show no weakness, or else lose more than she can ever imagine.


	2. He/Him

“What do you want from me?” He wishes his voice wasn’t shaking so much, but after three days with no food and little sleep it was taking all his strength to stay standing.

“I want only your company,” The voice echoes and rumbles around the room, and despite its cordial tone it makes him shiver. “I have heard every story, every myth, every theory a hundred times over. You have a world of difference in your head. That is very interesting to someone in as unique a position as I.”

“You kidnapped me… so I could tell you stories?” He says slowly.

The Antiquarian wheezes a terrible laugh.

“I instructed the Urchin to bring you from the crate in which you were quaking, to hime, my home, warm and dry, with an offer of employment. Would you have preferred to have gone unnoticed until some thug decided you would serve better as a night’s entertainment for him?” He hisses, “Or perhaps until you got so desperate that you crawled up the steps of the city to beg work from the Rose, like so many of this city’s insects?”

He stumbles backwards from the glass, unable to tear his eyes away from the motionless corpse contained within that exuded an aura of menace. He clips one of the fences surrounding the Emporium with his side, knocking himself off balance and down onto his hip painfully. The Antiquarian’s eyes have long since decomposed, yet he feels them boring into his own as if he were standing over him. He holds his gaze for as long as he can before shutting them and turning his head in defeat. The intimidation retreats back into the glass slowly, leaving a faint sensation of satisfaction with his submission.

“I have no knowledge how you got into this world but I am undoubtedly your best chance at working that out,” The Antiquarian continues in his cordial tone.

“What do you mean?” He hesitantly opens his eyes and looks at the glass again.

“Child, I am older than you can comprehend, and in this room are magical artefacts and tomes that were considered ancient when I first started my collection,” The Antiquarian sounds almost nostalgic, “Half of the most valuable texts have decayed with age and their contents now reside only in my mind. If I cannot help you, no one can.”

An overwhelming sense of loneliness comes over him. He has been in this terrible world for nearly a week and his minor accomplishments of finding shelter and keeping him meagre possessions now seem so insignificant. This crumbling corpse and his strange pet urchin are the only people who care whether he lives or dies. He pulls him knees up to his chest and presses his eyes against them to try and force back tears, wishing he was alone so he could give in to the encompassing desolation. Despite his best efforts, a sob was muffled into his jeans.

“There there, Child,” the Antiquarian soothes, “Urchin! Comfort the Child!” he snaps.

A tiny hand pats him on the shoulder. He hiccups and doesn't shoo the boy away while he cries.

After his sobs slow, he looks up with red-rimmed eyes and says in a quavering voice.

“I’m not a child. I have a name.”

“Everyone is a child to me,” the Antiquarian says amusedly, “And names are so immaterial when your life will be gone in a blink of my eye.”

He has nothing to say to that, so he wipes his eyes and accepts a handkerchief from the Urchin to blow his nose. He stands up, knees steadier and his head clearer.

“I want a contract,” he says with as much authority as he can manage, “Written and signed by both of us, describing my duties, what I will and will not do, and what I am allowed to do,” he tries to hide how reluctant he is to add the last condition. “It will serve as a record of my life after you have blinked.”

There is silence for a long moment and he braces himself for the intrusive aura again - until a wheezing laugh echoes around the emporium, longer and perhaps more genuine than before.

“I have chosen well, Child,” the Antiquarian radiates delight, “Already you are bringing difference to my life. Urchin! Fetch quill and ink!”

While the Urchin scuttles around gathering writing materials, he takes several deep breaths. This is the opportunity to bargain and barter for his basic needs, personal freedom, and any luxuries for the foreseeable future. He can show no weakness, or else lose more than he can ever imagine.


	3. They/Them

“What do you want from me?” They wish their voice wasn’t shaking so much, but after three days with no food and little sleep it was taking all their strength to stay standing.

“I want only your company,” The voice echoes and rumbles around the room, and despite its cordial tone it makes him shiver. “I have heard every story, every myth, every theory a hundred times over. You have a world of difference in your head. That is very interesting to someone in as unique a position as I.”

“You kidnapped me… so I could tell you stories?” They say slowly.

The Antiquarian wheezes a terrible laugh.

“I instructed the Urchin to bring you from the crate in which you were quaking, to hime, my home, warm and dry, with an offer of employment. Would you have preferred to have gone unnoticed until some thug decided you would serve better as a night’s entertainment for him?” He hisses, “Or perhaps until you got so desperate that you crawled up the steps of the city to beg work from the Rose, like so many of this city’s insects?”

They stumble backwards from the glass, unable to tear their eyes away from the motionless corpse contained within that exuded an aura of menace. They clip one of the fences surrounding the Emporium with their side, knocking themself off balance and down onto their hip painfully. The Antiquarian’s eyes have long since decomposed, yet they feel them boring into their own as if he were standing over them. They hold his gaze for as long as they can before shutting them and turning their head in defeat. The intimidation retreats back into the glass slowly, leaving a faint sensation of satisfaction with their submission.

“I have no knowledge how you got into this world but I am undoubtedly your best chance at working that out,” The Antiquarian continues in his cordial tone.

“What do you mean?” They hesitantly open their eyes and look at the glass again.

“Child, I am older than you can comprehend, and in this room are magical artefacts and tomes that were considered ancient when I first started my collection,” The Antiquarian sounds almost nostalgic, “Half of the most valuable texts have decayed with age and their contents now reside only in my mind. If I cannot help you, no one can.”

An overwhelming sense of loneliness comes over them. They have been in this terrible world for nearly a week and their minor accomplishments of finding shelter and keeping their meagre possessions now seem so insignificant. This crumbling corpse and his strange pet urchin are the only people who care whether they live or die. They pull their knees up to their chest and press their eyes against them to try and force back tears, wishing they were alone so they could give in to the encompassing desolation. Despite their best efforts, a sob was muffled into their jeans.

“There there, Child,” the Antiquarian soothes, “Urchin! Comfort the Child!” he snaps.

A tiny hand pats them on the shoulder. They hiccup and don’t shoo the boy away while they cry.

After their sobs slow, they look up with red-rimmed eyes and say in a quavering voice.

“I’m not a child. I have a name.”

“Everyone is a child to me,” the Antiquarian says amusedly, “And names are so immaterial when your life will be gone in a blink of my eye.”

They have nothing to say to that, so they wipe their eyes and accept a handkerchief from the Urchin to blow their nose. They stand up, knees steadier and their head clearer.

“I want a contract,” They say with as much authority as they can manage, “Written and signed by both of us, describing my duties, what I will and will not do, and what I am allowed to do,” They try to hide how reluctant they are to add the last condition. “It will serve as a record of my life after you have blinked.”

There is silence for a long moment and they brace themself for the intrusive aura again - until a wheezing laugh echoes around the emporium, longer and perhaps more genuine than before.

“I have chosen well, Child,” the Antiquarian radiates delight, “Already you are bringing difference to my life. Urchin! Fetch quill and ink!”

While the Urchin scuttles around gathering writing materials, they take several deep breaths. This is the opportunity to bargain and barter for their basic needs, personal freedom, and any luxuries for the foreseeable future. They can show no weakness, or else lose more than they can ever imagine.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaand from here the Child is declared to be the official archivist of the Black Emporium, keeping track of all the weird shit Xenon buys and sells, they get dragged into some of Hawk's shenanigans, and then they're a representative to the Inquisition buying the rare and unique items the Quizzy can loot out in the field. And they can romance whoever you want.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [With Compassion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27797806) by [DiscipleOfDave (Martin_Weir)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martin_Weir/pseuds/DiscipleOfDave)




End file.
